


Landlines

by shuglove



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:34:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7551472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuglove/pseuds/shuglove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moving to a new place means new beginnings. Too bad things are a little creepy and a lot mysterious in Beacon Hills.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landlines

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy?” Stiles asks, standing in the long driveway, arms stretched out for his father to stack boxes in. His father saddles him with a box labeled “Kitchen essentials UNPACK FIRST” as well as one of his duffel bags of clothing. It’s the t-shirt duffel. Stiles can be organized when he wants to be, and he’d been in charge of packing. And he and his dad had both been eager to move out of the house that felt more with each year like a reminder that a third of their family was dead.

 

“A little,” his Dad agrees as they walk toward the house. “Previous owners were a couple of little old ladies. I don’t think they could do much to maintain it, but a few coats of paint should go a long way. Maybe cut down a few trees.” 

 

Objectively, the house is beautiful. It’s Victorian, with a large front porch, elaborately trimmed windows and doors. It’s even got a little tower on the side, complete with a stained-glass window. But that doesn’t make up for the fact that it looks creaky and old and a lot shady since the trees around it are tall and dense, while the shrubs and plants around the house that must have been quite a nice garden once are completely overgrown. It looks exactly like the kind of house that would have a ghost or two, or maybe Dracula.

 

“Uh huh,” Stiles replies skeptically, and follows his dad into the house. He picks out the tower room—stained glass window, hello- and as the sun sets, he and Dad have most of the basics unpacked and moved in. They’ve reassembled the kitchen table, carried in the chairs, and they both managed to get their mattresses on the floors of their designated bedrooms, and the couch and TV are in the living room. The cable still needs setting up, but they can watch a movie after dinner, at least. Speaking of dinner…

 

“We should’ve picked something up,” Stiles complains, from his perch on the window seat. _Window seat_. He’s warming up to the house, a bit. 

 

“I saw a diner in town,” his Dad offers, not looking up from where fiddling with the bookshelf. “Is it level yet?”

 

Stiles squints, stands up to get a good view. “Nah, now it’s just lopsided the other way.” His Dad swears under his breath, and Stiles is about to offer to just do it himself when the doorbell chimes.

 

They look at each other, surprised. “I’ll get it,” his dad says. “You, fix bookshelf.”

 

“Aye, aye,” Stiles mutters. Of course, he eavesdrops blatantly, standing just behind the living room door.

 

It’s a woman. Melissa McCall, apparently.

 

“We’re all very excited to have a new sheriff, really. Maybe you’ll last longer than the last two did.” If his ears could have pricked up, they would have. Instead Stiles edges a bit closer.

 

“I’m excited to be here,” Stiles’ Dad responds politely. “What’s that you’re carrying?”

 

“Oh, just a little casserole. Green beans and ground beef and—“

 

Stiles flails into the front room.    
  


“Hi, I’m Stiles. Can I heat that up?” He’s hungry, ok? Moving is hard work.

 

Melissa gapes at him. The sheriff clears his throat. “This is my son. Sorry, he’s usually a bit more polite.” 

 

Stiles rolls his eyes, grinning. “Only when I’m not hungry.”

 

Melissa slowly shuts her mouth, and smiles tightly.

 

“It’s nice to meet you. I… didn’t realize you had a son,” she directs at his Dad.

 

“Yup,” Stiles interrupts. “He’s single though, if you were wondering.” His dad facepalms, but Stiles knows he’s smiling. He’s lucky he’s got a father who can appreciate his awkward son’s attempts to find him love. Melissa seems nice. And his mom… his mom’s been gone a long time, long enough for Stiles to realize he’s tired of seeing his father be lonely. Even though no one will ever replace his mom. 

 

“I’m sorry,” his dad apologizes again. He shoots a wry grin at Melissa, who is clearly already falling for the Stilinski charm.  

 

Melissa smiles back, but she still seems a little unsettled. Surprisingly, she turns to Stiles.

 

“Are you in college, Stiles? Heading back soon?”

 

Stiles huffs a laugh. “Nah, but thanks for thinking I look old enough. I’m 16, so I’ll be going to school here.”

 

“Oh,” she says. “I have a son about your age. I’ll tell him to keep an eye out for you.”

 

“Thanks,” Stiles says easily. It’d be nice to know some people before school starts. 

 

“It’s kind of boring here for young people, I’m afraid,” she continues. “You might be asking your Dad to move before the month is up.”

 

“It…seems like a nice town,” Stiles replies hesitantly. Something seems a little off, in the way she’s staring at him so intently, like he should be getting more out of her words than what she’s saying. 

 

“Really charming,” his dad adds. “And hopefully we’ll get to do some father-son stuff. Camping, hiking. It’s a beautiful forest.”

 

“Oh, it is,” Melissa agrees. “I’d be careful though. I’m not sure even the rangers know everything that’s out there. It’s a huge park.” 

 

She hesitates.

 

“Well, enjoy the casserole!” she says cheerily. “Good luck in school, Stiles. I’ll see you two around!” And with that, she dumps the casserole in Stiles’ waiting arms and heads quickly to her car.

 

The sheriff walks around to the window to watch her go.

 

“She was nice,” he says. 

 

“And pretty,” Stiles reminds him. His dad cuffs the back of his head lightly, but doesn’t disagree. 

* * *

  
  


Stiles is getting to know the town, even though it’s only been a couple of days. It’s pretty tiny. A bunch of cute houses, a couple of local craft shops—he may have indulged in some handmade candles- a grocery store, a vet’s clinic, a diner and a coffee shop, a few other businesses that look interesting but that Stiles hasn’t really looked into yet. 

 

He’s coming out of the grocery store, pretty loaded down with bags, when a blonde wet dream comes strutting towards him. She stops in front of him while Stiles tries and fails not to look at her cleavage and then her face goes from sultry to sweet when she smiles.

 

“Need some help with your bags?” she asks, and before he really can do anything but gape she helps herself to a bunch. “Which car is yours?” she asks.

 

“Uh…the blue jeep—“ he half jogs to keep up with her. They load up the trunk as Erica asks him.

 

“You new in town? I would’ve noticed a cutie like you before.” She winks at him, but it seems more like she’s being friendly than really flirting. Not that Stiles would really know. He doesn’t think he’s ever really been flirted with before.

 

“Uh, yeah. My dad’s the new sheriff. We just moved into that little old house in the woods, by—“

 

“Yeah, I know the place. It was up for sale a while before you came. You getting to know the town?”

 

They’ve finished loading up the car, and now they’re just standing there talking while Erica leans against the trunk, all leather and curves and red lipstick.

 

“Um, yeah. I mean, it seems pretty small. But nice,” he says quickly.

 

“Oh no, you can say it. It’s tiny. I prefer spending time in the woods, myself. You gone hiking yet?” she asks eagerly.

 

“Not yet. I mean, I don’t really know my way around.” He also really doesn’t know why she’s talking to him. This must be a small town, if girls like her will socialize with guys like him.

 

“My boyfriend and I could take you sometime. We both hike a lot. I live out there, actually.”

 

“Sure,” Stiles replies, maybe a bit too earnestly, but Erica just smiles back at him, pleased. “Um, is it true that it’s not super safe? I met—this lady came by the house and said to be careful out there.”

 

“Safest place you could be,” she answers and then cocks her head, listening. 

 

“I gotta run. See you around, Stiles”. He hadn’t heard anything, but she practically sprints off, like someone had told her to hurry up.

 

“Huh,” Stiles says. He fishes his keys out of his pocket and drives home.

 

* * *

 

He has another, weirder, encounter in the hardware/ gun store. Apparently the Argent family, which consists of a pretty brunette and a grizzly man he’s glimpsed before around town, not only sell hammers and nails but also custom make guns. All kinds. And Stiles is a cop’s kid, ok, he has a healthy amount of fear and respect for deadly weapons, but these guns are pretty. So pretty. 

 

While Stiles is gaping at the pretty, pretty firearms, the grizzly Argent steps up behind him. 

 

“You gotta be 18 to buy, kiddo.”

 

Stiles jumps in surprise and flips around. The man dodges his elbows neatly, and sticks out a hand.

 

“Chris Argent,” he says.

“Stiles.” He says in reply, shaking his hand.

 

“Stiles. You’re John’s kid, aren’t you?”

 

“Yep. The Sheriff.”

 

“We didn’t know you were coming. Didn’t know he had a son,” Chris replies, and he seems a bit sad at that. What? Were they going to make him a welcome cake or something if they had known beforehand?

 

“Um.” Stiles says.

* * *

 

 

It’s dark when he gets home, car stocked with paint and rollers and all of the other stuff he picked up for his Dad. His Dad’s not home—working night shift, plus trying to get to know all of his deputies- so he won’t be home for a while. Stiles frowns. The deputies have no compunctions about treating their new Sheriff to unhealthy breakfasts.

 

He shrugs and pulls his keys out of ignition, and is halfway out the car door when he hears a howl. A serious, real, bone-chilling howl. And it’s very close by.

 

Stiles moves faster than he ever has to throw himself back into the driver’s seat, slam the door closed, and lock all of his car doors. 

There’s another howl, closer this time.

 

“Holy shit, holy shit,  _ holy shit _ ,” he mutters frantically, groping for his keys and fumbling with the ignition.

 

He looks out the windshield and freezes. There, in the woods, something red-eyed is looking back at him. The porch light is on, but besides that the  _ glowing crimson eyes _ are the only source of illumination in the dark.

 

Stiles blinks and rubs his eyes hard with the heel of the hands. “This kind of thing doesn’t happen, all right? This is out of horror movies and bad novels and—“

 

The eyes are gone. 

 

“Ok, does that mean I am in more or less danger?” Stiles asks himself, fumbling. Nothing howls in reply. Stiles sits there for another couple of minutes, then calls his dad.

 

“Hey, son. Listen, I’m—“

 

“Dad! Code red! There’s a wolf—red eyes—seriously close, Dad—“

 

“A wolf?” his Dad says skeptically.

 

“Yes,” Stiles hisses.

 

“You saw a wolf?” 

 

“Well—no. But I heard it howling.”

 

“Probably just a coyote, Stiles.”

 

“Is it safe to get out of the car if it’s a coyote—wait a minute, how do you know? You’re a city slicker, just like me, Dad. We live in the woods. Who knows what’s out there—“ He’s getting dangerously close to squeaking territory.

 

“Calm down, buddy,” his Dad instructs. And it’s that tone of voice—not dismissive, his dad would never be dismissive of him- but tired. Bone-tired. Maybe not even because Stiles is crying wolf, maybe not even because of Stiles—although probably, mostly, because of Stiles. And Stiles swore to himself he wouldn’t make things harder on his dad.

 

He answers in a much calmer tone of voice. “I’m fine. Never mind, Dad. I probably imagined it. I’m really tired. I’m just going to eat and go to bed.” 

 

“You sure you’re ok?” His dad asks, a little anxiously.

 

“I’m fine,” Stiles says. “Later, dad.”

 

He repeats that he’s fine to himself several times before hightailing it to his house.

 

On the other side of the door he dumps everything on the floor and leans against his front door, panting.

 

“Listen, Stiles. Me. You are a stressed, grieving teenager with ADHD and occasional abuse of Adderall.  _ That— _ that was a hallucination. A lapse. No biggie, nothing to worry about.” Something in the old house creaks and he jumps a foot in the air.

 

_“I’m not scared because nothing happened,”_ he continues in a high voice, not daring to look out the house windows for fear of what he might see. He puts all the hardware stuff in the living room and double checks the locks on every door in his house. If he digs his baseball bat out of the closet and lies fully dressed on top of his bed until he falls asleep, that’s no one’s concern but his.

* * *

 

The morning is brutal. He takes one look at his father’s tired, peaked face and resolves to say nothing about the possible wolf outside their house or the weird feeling he’s been getting from almost all of the people in town. Nor does he bring up his nightmares from last night, where he kept dreaming that someone was standing over his bed and startling awake to an empty room. 

 

He can deal with it. 

 

Besides, he and his Dad have barely seen each other these past few days. Christ, had it only been days? It feels like  _ years  _ since Stiles and his dad drove off from their little apartment in the city, a sold sign in the window and feeling half sad to be saying goodbye to the last place his mom had lived and half relieved to no longer see her everywhere. She’d had a rooftop garden, filled with mint and roses and even a little vegetable bed. Stiles had helped her with it, up until she got sick. She’d always said that you needed to have a little green space, wherever you go. 

 

“I think Mom would’ve liked it here,” Stiles says involuntarily, and then waits with bated breath for his father’s face to crumple or for him to grunt oppressively. It’s so hard to talk about her without their loss choking them both, so they rarely do. Instead his father smiles faintly, takes a sip of his coffee.

 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “All this green.”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles echoes, and sneaks a little coffee while his father flips pancakes.

 

“Soooo.” Stiles begins. Breakfast is catch up time. With coffee in his hands and being in the same room as his Dad, the weird parts of the week seem silly to worry about, now.

 

“Playing nice with the other kids?” Stiles asks.

 

His dad snorts. “It’s a good group of deputies. Serious about their work, even though apparently not much happens here. Not like the city. Parking tickets, busting teenage parties, that kind of thing.”

 

“Sounds nice,” Stiles says and screws up by taking a rapturous sip of coffee when his dad turns to put the pancakes on the table. His dad’s eyes narrow while Stiles’ eyes widen for his best innocent face. His dad sighs but lets the illicit coffee consumption go. They start to eat, with the single-minded focus only Stilinski men can really achieve, and the conversation necessarily pauses for a few minutes.

 

When his dad finishes, though, he looks at Stiles thoughtfully, and Stiles looks back, still chewing. 

 

“There’s one thing that bothers me, though.” He’s got his Sherriff face on, and Stiles inwardly crows. He loves hearing the gossip.

 

“There’s a kid missing. Well, teenager. About your age.” His dad pauses, takes a sip of coffee, looks outside with a sad look on his face.

 

“Disappeared after his dad died, almost a year ago. Single parent, but apparently a real asshole. The deputies think he ran off, sick of this town and happy to no longer be under his father’s thumb. They say he’s a good kid.”

 

“Why are you telling me this, Dad?” Stiles questions, finally done with breakfast. He leans back into his chair, stuffed.

 

His dad frowns. “I probably shouldn’t be.” 

 

“But you arrrreee,” Stiles pushes.

 

“The other cops aren’t too interested in finding him. They don’t blame him for running off, and neither do I, if his dad was as bad as they say. And maybe it’s because I’m a city cop, but I worry about teenagers on their own. Besides, he’s got no family left. Wasn’t very social. I bet he  _ is  _ on his own.” His dad pauses again. Stiles waits for him to keep talking.

 

“Can’t remember his first name, but the surname is Lahey. Maybe you could…”

 

“I’ll tell you if I hear anything,” Stiles answers. “Although I don’t think it’s likely anyone’s going to come up to me and tell me they’re hiding him in their basement. But I will, if I hear.”

 

“Knew I could depend on you, kid,” his dad replies dryly. “I’m going to bed. Stay out of trouble.”

 

“Sure thing, daddy-o,” Stiles yells after him.

* * *

 

That afternoon he heads back to town, a little aimless. He’ s not really sure what he’s looking for, but he kind of just wanted to get out of the house. As he parks behind the grocery store, the people he sees wave at him. When he gets out and starts walking around the town, people smile at him, some stop and say hello, to tell him welcome to Beacon Hills. Small towns. He’s not used to people being this friendly, but word’s gotten around that the Sheriff has a teenage son, and people seem dang near excited to meet him. It’s kind of nice, though. He ends up in the hardware store, again, wanders over to the gardening section. That little rooftop garden had gotten overrun with weeds pretty quickly, during his mom’s stay in the hospital. When she never came home, Stiles had stopped watering it. It hadn’t felt worth it. He’d been taking care of it so it would be ready for her when she got better, and she hadn’t. He’d been much younger then, and now it seems kind of selfish, pointless, for him to have just let the garden go entirely. And they have a lot of green space, now. 

 

He picks out stuff he thinks will be easy and plants he remembers from his mom’s garden; mint, rosemary, basil, some flowers that he thinks look hardy. He helped his mom, he’s not like a gardening expert, though. He just wants stuff he doesn’t think he’ll kill by accident. He gets to the counter with seeds, a couple of little herb plants, gardening gloves (his mom had always worn them), and a bag of soil. He thinks, maybe, the dirt in his yard isn’t great for growing plants? He’s not really sure. Why else would they sell dirt? When he dumps it all on the counter and pulls out his wallet, he looks up to see Chris from the other day, as well as his daughter behind the counter. Another teenager! Hopefully she’s less weird than her dad.

 

“Hi!” Stiles says cheerfully, smiling at her. “I’m Stiles,” he supplies.

 

She smiles back. It’s a sweet smile, all dimply and bright. “Allison,” she replies. “You doing some gardening?” as her dad rings up Stiles’ purchases.

 

“Well, I’m going to try,” Stiles replies cheerfully. “I just hope I don’t kill anything.”

 

“Ever tried wolfsbane?” Chris interjects and Allison fumbles with the seed packets she’s bagging.

 

Stiles laughs awkwardly. “Um, no?”

 

“Stiles doesn’t want that stuff, Dad. It’s toxic,” Allison interjects sweetly. She gives Stiles another smile.

 

“Not to everyone,” Chris replies. “Can be useful.” He speaks casually, but he’s staring hard at Stiles. A little creepily, Stiles might say. Chris keeps staring at him, unblinkingly.

 

Stiles gets the heck out of that hardware store.

 

* * *

 

When he gets home, though, there’s a young guy waiting in the driveway, circling slowly on a bicycle. Stiles pulls up.

 

“Um, hello?”

 

The guy hops off his bike, grinning.

 

“Yo, dude! I’m Scott. You met my mom, Melissa?”

 

“Oh!” Stiles exclaims, grinning in response. “Yeah, good casserole.” 

 

“Yeah, she sent me over to say hi. I’m not really doing much this afternoon, so…” he pauses, looking like a hopeful puppy.

 

“I have Halo,” Stiles replies.

 

“Sweet!” Scott crows and pulls his bike onto the grass so Stiles can actually park his car.

 

Scott turns out to be ridiculously good Halo player. 

 

“Good reflexes, I guess,” Scott says when Stiles asks him for his secret.

 

“Hmmph,” Stiles grunts and then proceeds to lose spectacularly, again.

 

* * *

 

He ends up hanging with Scott pretty often. They’ve had a few late night video game marathons and occasionally play lacrosse together during the day--and then, at one said lacrosse session, Scott asks him to go hiking. But the whole way he does it is really weird, in Stiles’ opinion. Granted, he hasn’t known Scott very  long, but he’s never seen him be so unhappy about something.

 

They’re walking back to Stiles’ house from the field near the town’s tiny elementary school when Scott says in a monotone, “You like hiking?”

 

“I dunno,” Stiles replies. “Never really tried it.”

 

“Right,” Scott says, perking up. “You’re a city kid. You’d probably hate it.”

 

“Dude!” Stiles replies. “Just because I was raised in a city doesn’t mean I hate nature.”

 

Scott grunts.

 

“I kind of want to see the park, actually,” Stiles tells him. Possible pack of wolves or not, it would be a pity to live next to a national park for the rest of high school and never see it.

 

Scott mutters something under his breath.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“You’re being weird,” Stiles tells him, and flails helplessly as Scott wraps him up in a sudden bear hug.

* * *

 

They do go hiking. With Erica, the striking girl he’d seen in the grocery store’s parking lot, her boyfriend, Boyd, and another teenager named Isaac. They’re disarmingly friendly: Isaac is as eager as a puppy to meet Stiles and Boyd, who Stiles reads as rather a quiet type, shakes his hand firmly and tells him to come over anytime. Erica embraces him when he meets them at the trailhead, leaving a smacking kiss on his cheek. Even for hiking, she wears scarlet lipstick and nail polish that match exactly her flannel shirt. 

 

“Do you all go hiking a lot?” Stiles asks. 

 

“Well, we live in the park,” Erica tells him. “We finished our cabin last year.”

 

“That’s awesome!” Stiles exclaims. He had only gotten to hike on yearly field trips when he lived in the city. Scott grunts behind him. He’s been oddly morose since Stiles picked him up.

 

“Yeah. Lots of freedom,” Isaac agrees. “Pretty much everything you need is in the preserve--except for cell reception, that’s pretty spotty.”

 

“Don’t know if I could live without that,” Stiles jokes. “Where are we headed, anyways?”

 

Boyd answers, “This is the Red Crescent trail. Heads up Mt. Blackfeather, really great views.”

 

“Sounds good,” Stiles says. Next to him, Scott kicks a pebble viciously.

.........................................

“ _ Wow _ ,” Stiles pants out, hands on his hips. 

 

“Yeah,” Isaac says, not winded at all. “You never really get used to it.”

 

_ It  _ is the view from the trail. They’re standing on a rocky cliff--apparently on one of the preserve’s smallest mountains, which makes Stiles really want to see what a  _ big _ mountain is according to his new friends--and below them are miles of coniferous forest, shadowed in the preserve’s valleys, while some peaks are capped with snow, even in August.

 

“I mean, holy shit,” Stiles continues, still breathing heavily. He guesses he needs to hit the gym more. The others haven’t even broken a sweat. “I’ve never been anywhere like this before!” 

 

“I’d believe that,” Erica smirks. “We’ll have to take you camping. When you spend a couple weeks backpacking around you can really explore, climb some of the bigger mountains.”

The way back is odd. They run into Chris Argent and his daughter, of all people. 

 

“Hey,” Stiles says awkwardly, noticing that all four of his companions have gone a little tense.

 

“Exploring the trails, I see,” Chris comments, sounding seriously like a B-movie villain.

 

“Yep,” Stiles says, trying not to twitch too much under the older man’s steely gaze.

 

“And making some friends,” Chris continues, looking over the others. He frowns.

 

“Yep,” Stiles replies again, his ability to make conversation seemingly leaving him as the tension rises on the path. Erica is glaring in his peripheral vision, while Scott is practically hiding behind Stiles.

 

“We’re out for a hike too,” Alison interrupts smoothly, causing Stiles to nearly let out a sigh of relief when her father’s attention is diverted.

 

“Heading back now,” Chris adds. “I saw your jeep at the trailhead, Stiles. Want us to walk you back?”

 

“S-sure. I’m giving Scott a ride, too.”

* * *

 

After a near-silent walk back, Stiles is all to happy to be on the highway headed home. Erica, Boyd, and Isaac had parted ways with them in the preserve, leaving Scott and Stiles to hike back to the trailhead with the Argents.

 

“Dude,” Stiles begins. “What’s been up with you today?”

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Scott replies defensively.

 

“You’re a bad liar,” Stiles says calmly.

 

Scott sighs. “I really like Erica and Boyd. And Isaac.”

 

“Okay?” Does this mean he has a crush on all of them? Stiles keeps his face neutral.

 

“I’m just not sure if they’re the best people for  _ you _ to be hanging out with.”

 

“Why?” Stiles nearly squeaks. Cop’s kid. He immediately pictures them as drug dealers or members of a cult.

 

Scott shrugs.

“You can’t just say something like that and not give me a reason,” Stiles protests, glancing over at the other teenager. Scott’s expression turns mulish.

 

“They’re just… intense.” 

 

"It seemed like they didn't like the Argents very much," Stiles tries, taking a different tack.

"The _Argents_ ," Scott answered, "had every right to be there."

With a feeling like he was missing something big, Stiles gave up for the time being.

...................................

 

Tired out from the hike, Stiles sleeps deeply that night, with vivid dreams.

 

_ He’s at the top of the cliff, looking out the preserve, the mountains in the distance. Flashes of copper gleam throughout the landscape. Stiles looks at his own hands, which themselves are laced in a copper fire. _

 

_ “You see,” someone says next to him. A man, with a pleasant voice. “The land is woven into you.” _

 

_ Stiles turns his head to look at the speaker, but only can see his silhouette, framed in the setting sun. _

 

_ It’s night, and he’s in the sky, standing in nothingness. Behind him is his pursuer. And Stiles is ready to stop running, ready to fall back to earth… _

 

He wakes, late, thinking he hears a wolf’s call. His eyes open partially, to a dark figure over his bed--then he wakes more fully, and his room is empty. He closes his eyes, feeling his heart thud rapidly in his chest, and pops out of bed. Stiles sighs, walking over to the window. He gets like this, sometimes.  _ Wired.  _ His eyes are crusty and he’s covered in sleep sweat, but he can tell that sleep is a long way off.

 

He’s stares out into backyard for a few moments, unseeing. Perhaps a cup of tea--Dad brought home some chamomile from the store--Stiles gasps, his brain finally catching up to his tired eyes.

 

There is something with scarlet eyes staring up at him from the tree line.

 

He gasps, staring back, and tries to yell for his Dad, but his breath catches in his throat. The eyes seem to be getting bigger.

 

_“Dad!”_ Stiles yells, to no response. Then he remembers--the Sheriff had told him at breakfast that he would be working a double. He is alone, with a predator in the yard.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> shuglove


End file.
